


one for sorrow, two for joy

by lovemutt



Series: teeth and lungs [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Death, Depression, Gen, Ghoulification, Ghouls, Murder, Raiders Are Assholes, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence, radiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 21:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19709911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemutt/pseuds/lovemutt
Summary: Richard has had a rough life.





	one for sorrow, two for joy

**Author's Note:**

> formatted weird, uploaded just to shove it in SomeRainMustFall's face.
> 
> enjoy!

Age 1  
Cw: none 

They always knew he'd grow up sassy. "Just like his mama." His dad would say, grinning as the infant in his arms fussed and huffed and pouted. From the moment he was born he complained, kicking when he didn't get what he want and cocking his head in the same way his mother did. 

"Richard's a good name." His mother said, planting a kiss on her baby's forehead, "Fancy, kind. Makes you sound like an old man." She teased, though the baby didn't understand, how could he? When he was older, maybe. 

Age 3:  
Cw: none 

Sassy he was. From cocking his head to his hip, Richard was turning out more like his mother than ever before. A full head of hair that curled just perfectly, bright green eyes, freckles dotting every inch of visible olive skin. A lovely child, just like his brother. 

The two were practically inseparable, wherever Jacob went, Richard was soon to follow, grinning as he ran beside his brother, dull pocket knife in his pocket. 

Her lovely boys, who didn't know about the worlds hardships as they played in the creek, laughing with each other, confident in their home's reclusiveness that their joy wouldn't draw any Wasteland creatures towards them. She smiled from the porch, watching them, watching how carefully Jacob handled his baby brother. She'd do anything for them. 

Age 7:  
Cw: none 

Richard leaned back against his mother's legs, too drowsy to hold himself up. The fire burned in front of them, warming them and protecting them from the biting cold outside. The door swung open, chilling them as Jacob and their father hauled firewood inside, shutting the door behind them. Richard's mother reached down, running the brush through Richard's hair again. "You're hair's getting long." She commented, pausing to lovingly brush his bangs around with her calloused fingers, "We should cut it soon." She said, ruffling his thick hair. Just like her's, it'd grow back within a few weeks, but he was so cute when they cut his hair… 

He nodded weakly in response, closing his eyes and yawning. 

Age 12:  
Cw: hm, general raider fuckery, nothing graphic though. 

The reclusiveness of their farm hadn't shielded them as it once had. 

Richard watched in curiosity as three men hopped their ramshackle fence, trying to judge them before they got too close. He rarely got to see other people besides his family, but as they approached the house he saw their armor and knew they were dangerous. He pushed himself off the steps to the porch, scurrying inside to warn his mother. 

"Ma, there's some guys outside. I think they're Raiders." He hissed out, his mother's eyes widening in fear. Without moving from her chair, she reached out, hand wrapping around the hidden pistol not even Richard had realized was there. 

"Stay here." She whispered, getting up and walking outside, "Jacob, stay with your brother." 

The fifteen year old frowned, nodding and tugging Richard over. Their father had left on a hunting trip earlier that morning and had yet to show his face, leaving them to take care of this mess. 

"Ma'am." One of the men spoke, his voice thick and gravely. One of the other pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as he kept his hand on his gun. "We heard this place was a farm, a nice one." The man mentioned,  
"Looking around, I'd have to agree. What's a group of fine young men like ourselves have to do to get some of these crops?" 

"You can pay." She replied. 

"Well, see, that's the issue here…?" 

"Barbra." 

"Barbra. That's the issue we have here, see, me and my friends don't like paying." He smiled, the men in the back grinning. "Usually we just take what we want, but we saw you had a kid. It'd be a mighty shame if something were to happen to your kid." 

"I see." Barbra replied. 

A gun shot rang out. 

Age 13:  
Cw: general raider fuckery 

Thankfully, no one was hurt on that day almost an entire year ago. 

The Raiders kept the farm in their control with threats towards Jacob and Richard, demanding pay as "rent" and a share of the crops. It made life incredibly difficult as time dragged on, the Raiders demanding more and more until they just couldn't keep up, constantly working, constantly trying, never having quite enough. Their father grew antsy, jittering around and constantly brandishing the once unused pistol, their mothers leg bouncing all day long as she was forced to once more work tilling the crops. Everyone was alert, everyone was aching, and everyone knew what would inevitably happen. 

Age 18:  
Cw: family dying, murder, general saddness, ghoulification 

It was a blur. 

Over four years ago, the Raiders finally lashed out. He could never stop blaming himself for it, not now, not ever. Maybe if he was /there/ he could have helped, or at the very least died with them! 

But he wasn't. He was taking just a little too long in the barn, taking his sweet time feed the Brahmin and trying to avoid going out and finishing the days work. He was tired, muscles aching, bags under his eyes. They hadn't had time to even stop and cut his hair, so it had grown just passed his shoulders… 

He heard the screams and then his memory goes black until… 

Until he's staring at his brothers face, contorted in pain as a Raider used him as a personal pin cushion. Jacob opened his eyes for a moment, staring Richard in the eyes-- god how he'd never forget the look on his face. 

And he mouthed the word 'run.'. The Raider looked up, grinning, and almost as if they all sensed Richard's presence, they all turned and looked, even the one on the process of stringing his mother up. 

Run he did, like a coward. He turned tail and ran, through the creek, over the hills, through forests and mud and past animal dens, never bothering to stop even when his skin was cut on branches and when the gun fire and shouts had long died out. He ran until he collapsed, even going so far as to crawl after that, desperate to reach town, or another home. 

Except he had long passed by any help, the sky darkening ominously above him. 

He couldn't remember much after that either, except he woke up in a hole. He assumed he fell, and the blood stained dirt and headache confirmed his fears. 

He remembered every bit after that, every second as his sickness grew, only realizing why as the sun rose and he spotted a bright yellow barrel, the signature radioactive sign on the side of it. 

He remembers every minute of every day of the next two weeks, as he started pulling his thick brown hair out in clumps, as he was forced to drink the water pooling in the hole that was practically glowing, he remembers the first time his skin slopped off and he was greeted with the realization of what was happening to him. 

And it hurt, in an emotional and physical sense. His skin was on fire for hours, itching and aching but any time he touched it more of it fell, he never stopped crying even as his tears stopped coming from dehydration, dry sobs racking his body as the sky darkened. 

Only the sky wasn't what darkened. It was his sight. 

He learned this only when he awoke the next morning, feeling the sun on his face but not seeing it. 

He bummed around the hole for days after that, not moving from his spot even after the pain stopped, even as he thought of a way to escape. What was the point? 

He couldn't think of one. 

But his family's words echoed in his head, every kind thing they'd said, every encouraging bit, ever story and phrase and I love you. He could do it, for them. So he hauled himself up, grimacing at how he practically had to peel himself away from the ground, skin pulling as he did. He made him nauseous to hear, but he persisted, walking to the barrel in the corner, securing his feet on it. 

He climbed up and out of the hole, falling more than once and tearing off what little skin he had, but he barely felt the pain. He hauled himself over the edge, landing in the dirt with his legs still hanging over as he wheezed and coughed. 

And then he felt a cold, wet nose on his face, sniffing once, twice, three times. Then a huff. A small lick in where his nose should have been… 

A dog. He looked up as best he could despite not being able to see, reaching out. His hands felt grimy, matted fur, slick to the touch. He reached farther up, feeling a collar. 

He slowly pulled himself up, reaching down to pet the dog, taking comfort in the fur and warmth of it even if it was greasy. When the dog started tugging his pants leg, he followed. 

And that's how he ended up here. The dog lead him through all sorts of fun places, from farm to farm, caravan to caravan, until the ended up here, in Goodneighbor. 

Richard let out a gravely, sad laugh. "Happy birthday to meee~" He calls, Frankie, his dog, leaning into him and putting her head in his lap. He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, emptying the bottle and tossing it with the others. 

Worst birthday ever. 

Age 22:  
Cw: general violence, suicide mention/attempted suicide 

A lot had changed. 

Chems, alcohol, fights, anything he could use to drown his pain he did, until eventually he scrounged up enough caps from exploring the nearby area and poker to buy a simple 10mm pistol from the damned robot in the front of town with every intention to get piss drunk, leave Frankie to the nice people in the hotel, and blow his fucking brains out, not like he was even sure that would get the job done. Ghouls were notorious for surviving incredible things. 

But he was going to try, dammit, so he sat there in an alley, Frankie barking so angrily she could be heard from halfway across town, turning the pistol over in his hands. He raised it to his temple, finger going to the trigger and-- 

"Hey, if you're going to do that, don't do it by my front door." 

He jumped, dropping the gun. 

"Who-Who said--" 

"My name's Bobbi No-Nose, and I'm /serious/. Not by my door, I have to walk out this thing, you know." 

"S…Sorry?" He said, his rough voice dipping low in almost charming embarrassment, like a teenage boy. 

"Yea, it's fine, just take it somewhere else-- Actually, wait." She said, changing her mind as Richard collected his gun and stood. "…You looking for work? I got a job I need done…" 

"I…I'm blind." Richard mentioned. 

"I can see that, I'm not stupid. You could still come in handy though, if you're up for it, I hear sometimes you guys have some pretty on point hearing. Whatcha say, you want in?" 

Richard frowning, throwing the idea around in his head. "What'll we be doing?" 

"Oh, you know," A pause, "This and that." Richard could practically /hear/ her grin. 

He stopped frowning. "I guess…I'm in." 

"Good choice, come on in." Bobbi said, opening the door. 

He'd never made a better choice. 

Age 26:  
Cw: drunk foolishness 

How one simple job could change a man. Working for Bobbi was the best choice he ever made, and it opened up a whole new realm of possibilities for him! Scavver, mercenary, he was everything you could be in the Wastes. He learned to tell where people were with his improved hearing, using Frankie as an early indicator for what he couldn't hear, did odd jobs no one else wanted, grabbed this and that if it looked valuable enough. 

Of course, he was still in the bar every night, slurring the words to Good Neighbor quietly as he fed Frankie the little bits of food he managed to get, guzzling down beer after beer until he was half dead from alcohol poisoning. 

Good nights, good booze. 

He even found a little bit of the sass he was born with, cocking his hip and leaning on his cane, spitting insults and sarcastic comebacks at the other bar flies, getting in fights and snatching their caps when they weren't looking, and never once thinking about the nightmares that plagued him at night about fires and Raiders. 

Tonight he even picked up a job, something about some guy in power armor just walking around outside the town, never doing anything just…walking. They wanted him to check it out, see if he was with the Brotherhood and, well, if he didn't come back they would know he was. 

Things were going good. 

So he didn't think about the nightmares. 

Age 27:  
Cw: none 

Richard tapped his cane as he shuffled down the steps, just to be sure he didn’t fall and faceplant. He knew the bar like the back of his hand by now, but he still had issues with stairs. He took the final step down, picking his cane up. He could already hear Justice in the corner, looming in her power armor and scaring everyone else, her armor whirring with a mechanical sound with every movement she made. He could hear Magnolia singing away, loud and proud, and the citizens of Goodneighbor laughing and chatting away. 

He made his way to the bar, just passing the set of chairs before he hear footsteps coming towards him. Another step forward and-- 

He was knocked on his ass by a very, very hard punch, not bothering to get up as he tried his hardest to comprehend what the /fuck/ just happened. His face ached and he could already feel the blood slowly seeping from his split lip. Frankie snarled from somewhere behind him, but he tapped the floor, the dog going quiet. He could tell she was still glaring with her cute little puppy eyes, though. 

"Sorry about that." He heard a voice say, a hand on his arm. He shuddered at the touch of another person, but didn't say anything in response, "Someone bet me to hit you so, I did." 

"Joke's on you, asshole." He spoke up, blood dripping off his chin, him forcing himself to speak with his gravely voice, "Now you owe me half of whatever you got from doing that, cuz it fucking hurt." 

"Heh. Will do."


End file.
